


Move

by earthtoalley



Series: 30 Days of Writing [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 15:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthtoalley/pseuds/earthtoalley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If Chuck was honest, Becky’s obsession with Sam always made him feel somewhat inadequate, but the blonde had always managed to lift his spirits again. Usually in the form of dragging him out of his house for a strawberry sundae down as this little diner on the corner of a street he couldn’t remember the name of."</p><p>Drabble for the 30 Days of Writing meme. Prompt 2: Move.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Move

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is only the second time I've ever written a fic, and I wanted to try something different so I got someone to give me a pairing and this came out. Hopefully I got Chuck and Becky right, and if not, I give you full permission to maim me in some way because I'm already convinced I didn't.

“I think we should move in together.”

Chuck almost lamented how easily swayed he had been by Becky’s insistence. He almost lamented the half empty bottle of whiskey sloshing around in his pocket, too, but he’d felt one of his prophetic migraines coming on and had tried to drink himself into a stupor as a precaution. Of course, when it turned out to be just a normal headache, he kicked himself because now he was staggering around, trying to pack boxes when he was barely sober enough to count to ten.

He could hear Becky typing away in another room, most likely updating whatever fanfiction missive she was on now, or grilling some other forum member on their hatred of Sam. If Chuck was honest, Becky’s obsession with Sam always made him feel somewhat inadequate, but the blonde had always managed to lift his spirits again. Usually in the form of dragging him out of his house for a strawberry sundae down as this little diner on the corner of a street he couldn’t remember the name of.

Chuck paused, a fond smile drifting lazily across his lips at the thought of it. The little diner, whose name still escaped him through the fog of alcohol, had been the location for their first date. Well, their first _official_ date. Chuck himself counted the god awful affair that had been the ‘first official Supernatural convention’ as their first date, but that was something the two of them had always disagreed on. Despite the event involving food, drink and kissing - all pretty big components of a date – Becky had insisted that anything involving violence and the threat of death did _not_ classify as a date and since the disastrous convention had involved both….

 Chuck shook his head, moving to go back to packing, scratching the back of his head absently as he tried to recall the name of the diner. For such an insignificant detail, it was bugging him to no end, and he knew it would keep him up all night if he didn’t find out. That was if he didn’t have another vision before he called it quits for the night. He hadn’t slept in days. The Winchesters were busy twisting fate in every which way possible, and Chuck was almost tempted to call one of them and beg them to take a week off so he could get some rest. The alcohol was starting to have less of an effect on his ability to sleep through the less important visions. Less effect on his ability to quell the unavoidable urge to write down everything he had seen until he had gotten at least five minutes of sleep.

Not that Becky minded, of course. The more visions he had, the more Supernatural books he could write. Not that Becky was selfish. She was always there with something to distract him when he needed a break. She was the one that kept him going on days he wanted it all to stop. The days he wanted to just be a _normal_ crappy writer. She was the one who ordered him takeout when he had forgotten to eat in days. She was the one who sat up all night to read his latest drafts with the same feverish passion each time. Honestly, Becky was the kind of girl he could see himself settling down with. If a Prophet could _ever_ settle down.

Chuck pulled his bathrobe around himself as he headed into the other room. Becky was hunched over the keyboard of his computer, typing away feverishly. He glanced at the screen, seeing the familiar layout of one of the many Supernatural forums she frequented. He wandered over to his desk, picking up his latest draft and sliding it carefully into a manila envelope he had been keep handy for the day he needed it. He had _expected_ to need it to send a copy of his latest novel to some big time publisher in the hopes of becoming the next Vonnegut or the next Kesey. Funny how things worked out, huh?

“I finished reading an hour ago,” Becky said, her attention turning from her half-written message on the screen to Chuck, frowning a little when she noted the way his eyes couldn’t focus on her properly.

“And?” Chuck questioned, the same familiar nervousness tingling in his gut. He knew it was only the gospel of Winchester, but it his credibility as a sub-par writer was at stake here. “What did you think?”

The corners of Becky’s mouth twitched upwards slightly as she tried to hold back a gleeful grin. Sure, she felt bad that Sam and Dean had to go through it all, now that she had met the two of them. But it sure did make for good reading, and it gave her plenty of ammunition for her next Wincest fanfiction – though she was _certain_ something was going on between Dean and Castiel, but she wouldn’t let that come between her and her otp.

“I thought it was great!” She said excitedly, when she couldn’t hold back any longer. “I can’t believe they brought Adam back to life.”

Chuck, on the other hand, could. Not only because he’d _seen_ it, but because he had seen what angels were capable of. After all, it had been Raphael’s fault he’d been picking pieces of Castiel’s vessel out of his hair for days. In fact, resurrecting Adam seemed comparatively less than he had been expecting.

“…You don’t think he’ll say yes to Michael, do you?” Becky asked, concern marring her features, normally so radiant and full of life.

“I don’t know, Becky,” Chuck sighed, running a hand through his hair tiredly. “But I don’t think Sam and Dean would let anyone even get _close_ to him until they’ve changed his mind.”

Becky nodded determinedly. It certainly _sounded_ like something Sam would do. She knew how important family was to him and Dean, after all, though in her opinion, it mattered more to Sam than it did to Dean. After all, how many times had Dean turned his back on Sam when he needed him?

She turned her attention back to Chuck’s computer, fingers skimming over the keys with deft precision as she started back up on her already too long forum post defending the homoerotic subtext of Supernatural, because after all she _knew_ the main characters (or two of them, at least). And while she hadn’t had the chance to meet Castiel yet, she could tell from the way Chuck wrote it that there was _definitely_ some kind of tension between Dean and the angel that wasn’t present between him and Sam – something she put down to the angel having some kind of sense that Sam was _hers_ and not anyone else’s.

Not that she didn’t love Chuck, because _of course_ she did. She loved it when he forgot to shave for a few days, too caught up with his writing to be concerned about it. She loved his little nervous ticks, and the way he talked too much when he was anxious. She loved that she was someone he could confide in about his visions and the trouble they caused him because _she_ wouldn’t think he was crazy for it, no matter what he came out with. Most of all, she just loved _him_.

She turned around in her seat once she had finished typing out her comment, hitting the post button as she turned. She studied Chuck silently for a while, watching as he tripped over his own feet, nearly sending a pile of not-quite-scrapped drafts flying as he stumbled into them. Okay, so perhaps she didn’t love his drinking, but she knew it helped him so she would put up with it. She watched as he grumbled to himself, picking up a handful of the well annotated papers and stuffed them in one of the many cardboard boxes scattered around his house, all filled with various possessions and documents and books and God knows what.

“Why don’t we go out tonight?” Becky called over to him. “Celebrate the big move with a sundae or something at Sam’s?”

And Chuck groaned because _that_ was why he’d willed himself to forget the name of that stupid diner.


End file.
